


Sleeping For The Wrong Team

by Rubynye



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>… hard thigh between his and blue eyes colder than ice above the black mask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping For The Wrong Team

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kehinki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kehinki/gifts).



> Acknowledgements: Kehinki@Tumblr inspired this  
> Title from "[Sugar We're Going Down](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/falloutboy/sugarweregoingdown.html) by Fall Out Boy

Steve's in his ultra-modern kitchen when the window clicks behind him and he _knows_. He spins into a ready stance but the black-clad figure grips his raised wrists and slams him into the wall, hard thigh between his and blue eyes colder than ice above the black mask.

Steve should fight. He fights, twisting a wrist free, kicking his heel against a knee, reaching for the mask and getting a fistful of dark hair. The Soldier presses in close, chest to chest, hip to hip, flattening Steve's arm over his head, shredding his shirt with one twist of a metal fist. He's so close, nose to nose, an inch shorter but every bit as strong, glaring icicles into Steve's eyes, and he smells -- warm, male. Impossibly familiar.

He snarls, louder than the rough noise of cloth ripping as he wrecks Steve's new jeans.

Steve yanks on the silky handful in his fist and snarls back.

The Soldier doesn't budge, pressing his textured polymer mask up against Steve's mouth like a parodic kiss. He pulls his metal hand away and brings it back slick, sliding it over Steve's rearing dick, cupping his balls in cool jointed metal, slipping it beneath to press two fingertips inside him, twisting them to wrench a groan out. Steve shoves at his shoulder and gets body-checked back against the creaking wall, gets two hard jointed fingers shoved up deep inside him and his flailing leg elbowed wide, knee pinned to the wall so his hip twinges. "What," he chokes out, "What do you--"

The Soldier slams him again into the denting wall, those fingers twisting in fast hard strokes before he drags them out, and then -- that's not fingers, it's not metal, it's hard rigid flesh and Steve gasps and flares and takes it in like his body was made for it, the heated length sliding into him like a homecoming, the Soldier quivering with a low drawn-out breath. Steve presses his parted lips to the vibrating mask and bears down, flexing with all his strength until the Soldier bottoms out inside him, until he wins a deep groan.

Steve clamps his fist around the Soldier's shoulder and his leg across his waist, hanging on as he's bounced; this is nothing but frank fucking and he grits his teeth at the crackling heat of it, at his dick's scrape against hard textured armor, at the Soldier's living fingers tensing rhythmically around his wrist. He still has a free hand, though, digging in his fingers until the armor dents beneath them, until the Soldier growls and thrusts even more forcefully. Sensation sears up Steve's spine, tensing him into an arch, rocking his head back as his shoulders slam against the cracking wall.

Pain-edged pleasure pulls Steve's diaphragm drum-tight, squeezing the air from his lungs, his pulse rising in patchy heat all over his still-clothed skin; he scrabbles for a grip, somehow knowing exactly how hard to drag his fingers nails-first down the Soldier's back, the perfect pace to snap his hips into the Soldier's thrusts. Arousal whirls through his melting brain, jarring memories loose, and Steve remembers himself a foot shorter and a third the size, taking a beautiful cock just this way, pinned to a creaking tenement wall, the sweet-salt of fresh sweat making his mouth water and his heart ache exactly as they do now. Everyone in his brief sexual repertoire is dead, female, or both, but Steve's body knows this man's though he has no idea how.

They hang there for an unknown time, rutting against each other, pressed to the groaning wall as they groan wordlessly into each other, lips separated only by a dense polymer mask. Suddenly, inevitably, the Soldier shudders like a seizure, unbreathingly silent as he pulses into Steve's shaking body. A gulping breath, two, three, and the Soldier drags out of him, letting go all over, and Steve crashes to the floor, too stunned to catch himself.

The Soldier falls with him, slamming to his knees, wraps wet living fingers around Steve's dick in long tight pulls as he presses Steve down with his heaving chest, his hair falling across Steve's face. Steve grasps that hair and grips that shoulder, thinking to push him away, pulling him closer as he writhes into the Soldier's hold and cries out into his armored neck, gulping thinning air as the heat in his blood boils over, as he clenches around sore-edged emptiness and comes so hard stars arc across the dark insides of his eyelids.

Steve's still shuddering when the Soldier lets go again, pulling from his lax grip and standing fluidly, vanishing between one blink and the next. Nothing's left of his presence but the breeze through the open window and Steve's pants legs round his ankles, nothing but Steve gasping through the aftershocks as he struggles to push himself up from where he's slumped in a sweaty, sticky heap on his kitchen floor.


End file.
